


Brief Encounters Between Hideous Friends

by Fangirlinit



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlinit/pseuds/Fangirlinit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To many, Regina Mills is a monster. Corrupt and unflinchingly cruel she is avoided at all costs. But to some, Regina is kind, gentle, and lately more heartbroken than ever. As all others turn away, one rises to become her savior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brief Encounters Between Hideous Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place post 2x16 "The Miller's Daughter."

If man’s best friend could roll their eyes Pongo’s would have strained from excessive use of the expression.

“It’s always there when I go to sleep. It’s always staring at me with those eyes and that handle it calls a nose.”

“And how does the sight of that make you feel?”

“God damn it, Doctor! It makes me feel as if I’m going mad! It haunts me every time I close my eyes. I know china can’t sing and dance, but this cup is twisting my perception.”

“You perception?”

The Dalmatian lay curled up in his bed, sighing every few minutes. It was obvious that his master was exercising a classic technique in shrinking. The poor dog had suffered through enough _In_ _Treatment_ episodes to understand the proper approach to this particular psychosis.

“Yes,” the patient nodded, “these nightmares are distorting my sense of what is real and what is not. Just an hour ago I was polishing an antique tea pot, and I swore I heard it say something.”

“Hearing voices.” His red-haired, bespectacled master frowned and scribbled on a notepad. “How interesting. What did the tea pot have to say?”

“I don’t know!” he shouted. The patient’s eyes roamed the room madly and widened at the sight of a coffee mug not far away. He shook his head and gripped his walking stick like it was the only thing on earth tethering him to reality. “I-I don’t know if it actually _said_ anything. There was just this unintelligible whispering. As soon as it happened I came straight here.”

“That was a very wise decision. It helps to have someone to talk to about these nightmares you are succumbing to. Although, I have to say it is unusual that you are plagued by dreams of animated dishware. Is there something in your past that could explain this? Perhaps a latent fixation with chipped cups?”

Pongo rolled his eyes – that was, he would if he could.

When the session came to a close Pongo lifted his head and yawned. Right on the dot there was a jingling of a leash followed by a whistle. Perked up by the sound, Pongo shot to his feet and offered his neck to the master. Leashed and ready to go the two set out for their afternoon walk.

The overgrown pup breathed in a lungful of fresh Storybrooke air as he sprinted ahead through the pristine cut grass. Archie was an ideal master in that he let Pongo have his reign over the park without a leash, and, what was more, he never frowned upon his chasing the wildlife. There was a surplus of squirrels and mice in this town, anyway. Who would miss one or two?

Unleashed and barking happily, Pongo was a sprinting blur, scaring the life out of park goers with his squirrel hunting spree. In his sights was one rodent in particular, running as fast as its tiny legs would take it. Hot on its squirrel heels was Pongo who zigzagged between trees and yipping delightfully.

After dashing in a wide circle the Dalmatian came to a grinding halt, cutting off the furry thing in its path. Not giving it a moment for last words he dove forward with jaws open and waiting.

And just like that Storybrooke was down one pesky squirrel.

Pongo trotted off with his prize in mouth. His ears picked up the sound of wheezing. Another dog? Hmph, that would be more competition than Pongo needed. Suffice it to say he liked being the only rodent assassin in Storybrooke. This Dalmatian worked solo, no sidekicks and no insufferable fanatics barking on about his work.

The wheezes turned to a gasping cry which told Pongo this was no canine. It was human.

The furry trophy fell from his mouth as Pongo followed the sniffling. Nose to the air he took a whiff of the breeze, catching the scent of fine perfume, salt, and… apples. The familiar scent spurred his legs into a more determined gallop. At the far end of the park where the fine grass met forest Pongo wiggled through some bushes to a secluded clearing. The sight before him instantly stilled his wagging tail.

The woman who smelled of apples was a lonely human. For one thing, she hardly ever did that thing with her face where people bared their teeth to one another (an expression that if any dog were to use would be met with growling). There were times when this ‘smile’ would come out around that brown-haired boy, but that had been happening less frequently. Lately that salt smell had been extra potent around this… “Regina” the humans called her. There were _other_ names the town used, though they were hardly spoken in her presence.

He hadn’t seen this woman around town recently and saw her even less at his master’s. Now coming upon her alone on a park bench and drenched in salt Pongo turned on his doggie charm in the hopes of getting a good old fashioned scratch behind the ears. Maybe with an extra wag of his tail he could get this Regina to flash her ‘Pongo smile.’

Tentatively sniffing her knee, he got a strong whiff of those infamous apples.

No one seemed to like her very much and Pongo could never understand why. A long, long time ago (although it only seemed like weeks ago to this dog) Regina vetoed the Storybrooke Park leash law. Dogs should have the freedom to roam in an area ideal for playing. The parks and recreation department along with many disgruntled citizens did not like that. Pongo and every dog in town did. If this apple smelling woman wasn’t dog's best friend before she was certainly worthy of the title after that political move.

Also worth mentioning was this human’s kindness. In the times her and the master met for therapy she would always give Pongo an extra scratch behind the ears upon entering and a peck on the top of his head at her departure. Who wouldn’t want a smooch from this woman Pongo couldn’t fathom. On occasion she would even sneak him one of those dog biscuits Granny made fresh daily.

But it had been days since she had last shown up for Archie’s sessions. No pleasant smiles, belly rubs, or treats. Pongo would have described the time since as forlorn, but from the state of this woman slouching on a bench it was evident that he was not the only one in low spirits.

Sitting on hind legs he waited patiently to be noticed. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t move. Pongo cocked his head as he inspected the water streaking her face. Through the heavy sobbing and bowed head she didn’t sense the animal sitting right in front of her. Pongo let out a soft bark to make his presence known.

There was a shriek as Regina pulled back at the sound. Her body immediately went stiff. She quickly wiped at her eyes, putting up that iron clad exterior she had perfected as mayor. Instead of Snow White or even the mischievous Rumplestiltskin there sat this dog, good-natured, unbiased Pongo. Her wall came down just as fast as it was build up. The waterworks resumed.

Pongo nuzzled her hand. She shrunk away from the wet nose even though they had come to know one another during her sessions with Archie. Despite the woman’s coldness Pongo rested his head on her lap. A long, shaky sigh emitted from above. Her fingers weaved through fur and then clawed for some semblance of comfort. Pongo didn’t mind. He just sat there silently as his friend went about whatever humans do when they were sad. These upright walking creatures did strange things and half the time Pongo couldn’t understand what they babbled on about on a daily basis, but he knew in his little heart that his being there made a difference.

Tears fell like a rainstorm upon the pup’s head, soaking his coat and wetting his sensitive nose, yet he didn’t pull away. He didn’t bark for anything, no matter how hopeful he was for a petting or a biscuit. Pongo stayed with her for however long she needed him to stay.

* * *

“Regina! Oh, have you come to resume our…” Archie opened the door wider and looked down. “You found Pongo.”

“Yes,” the tired woman grated out, “and I would appreciate it if you would keep the mongrel on a tighter leash. The thing follows me around constantly.”

“Ah, y-es,” he stumbled out, not having been this nervous since Regina was mayor. “I apologize. He likes to roam around, but he’s entirely harmless – except to the squirrels.”

The light laughter died as it failed to elicit a change in Regina’s expression. The oxford loafers shifted from one to the other as a Gianvito Rossi tapped. Pongo looked from his master to the woman. The acrid tension filling his nostrils nearly made him tremble.

“Well then.”

“Yes.”

After being thanked for returning the dog Regina nodded curtly and handed him off. Pongo gave a farewell lick to the hand which promptly receded and clenched. Bowing down he padded over the threshold, but not before feeling the affectionate brush of fingers on his back.

The door clicked shut and fancy shoes clacked swiftly in the distance.

* * *

As per usual, Archie left Pongo tied to a porch chair before he went into the diner for an early lunch. With the master occupied with a ham sandwich on rye Pongo bit his leash and looped it intricately through the legs of the chair (a trick taught to him by his fellow comrade of a more wolfish nature). And humans think cats are smarter. Ha.

The best things in life happen when one is not tied down. Pongo believed in this statement with all his canine heart as he padded happily down the sidewalk. Passersby smiled at him and patted his head occasionally, not paying any mind to the dragging leash or the master that should have been attached to it. Sometimes Pongo wondered who was leading who.

An afternoon stroll took Pongo to the cemetery. Aimlessly sniffing the freshly cut grass he suddenly came to a halt in between a set of tombstones. His ears pricked up to the sound of shouting. Bounding towards the scuffle he saw from a distance Regina standing on the steps of a mausoleum with a particularly aromatic bouquet of flowers that tickled his nose. There was a tall fellow in a black leather jacket and something gold flashing on his belt. He had the brunette’s arm in a tight grip. The hand roughly wrenched on the arm and Pongo dived in.

He leapt towards them, barking like a rabid… well, a rabid dog. The blur of white and black caused the man to let go. At the sight of sharp teeth and flying saliva he took a giant step back. Pongo’s paws strained to find purchase with the ground as his entire body shook from manic barking. The offender refused to scram, so Pongo held his ground as it was his rightful place to protect his friend.

“Unless you want to test the theory of a dog’s bark being worse than his bite I suggest you leave.”

“We’re not done, Regina,” the man warned with the end of his index finger. “This feud will never end until you are held responsible for the countless hearts manipulated and crushed.”

“Your wife can join me in that category. She killed my mother, after all. If you are so keen on justice how come she’s not the one being manhandled?”

“How dare you suggest –“

Burly fists unclenched at the snapping teeth.

“Better run along,” she mocked from behind her protector, “Charming.” Pongo hadn’t let his guard down for a second.

Pongo’s claws remained firmly implanted until the man faded in the distance. Licking the excess saliva from his muzzle he turned to the woman. His tail wagged happily as if the devil himself hadn’t taken over just seconds earlier.

The stoic face previously on display shed to reveal the ever present fear of Regina Mills. She leaned heavily against the stone of her family mausoleum with palms splayed out behind. Her face reddened from holding in the morose emotions and pain that flourished beneath. Legs gave out and she slid down, plopping down on the hard concrete. She hugged her knees tightly and squeezed her eyes shut. Though trembling, no tears came. A deep breath was taken in before her chin rose and a hand extended.

Pongo came closer. The hand continued to shudder until he put his nose to the palm. On cue, fingers scratched beneath his chin. She brushed her lips against the reassuringly soft fur.

“Thank you, Pongo.”

* * *

“Again?”

“I took the liberty of purchasing a leash. I hope I’m not overstepping boundaries, but when it comes to abandoned, wild dogs I feel compelled to make an exception.”

Archie pushed his glasses up and inquired curiously, “Do you experience this need to help all animals or just Pongo?”

Her head jerked back at the question. Half amused, half appalled she asked slowly, “Are you _shrinking_ me in your _hallway_?”

“N –!“ He paused mid-word, leaned in and whispered, “Do you _want_ to have our sessions in the hallway?”

“Nice try.”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble at all. My 4 o’clock cancelled last minute so I have a space open.”

Regina gave him a look that could not be misinterpreted.

“In _here_ of course,” Archie sputtered out, jerking a thumb towards the couch that happened to be more comfortable than it looked. “I would never hold a therapy session in such an open environment.”

“Just like you would never mention how badly I need therapy or bully me into those cockamamie theories you go on about,” Regina cocked her head and scowled for effect, “all in your very public hallway.”

Archie shook his head and waved his hands in a flurry as if trying to wave down an aircraft.

Regina gave Pongo a pat on the head and while her eyes were still holding Archie’s she instructed to the dog, “Take good care of the bug. He seems positively _jumpy_ today.” She departed with a smirk and an extra pat.

* * *

The points of her heels dug into the soft lawn made wet by the previous night’s rainfall. She sat on her bench in the clearing, hunched over her lap with a look of furious contemplation.

Regina frantically flipped through Cora’s spell book in search for a way to finally dispose of Snow White. Page after page and still not a single curse jumped out at her. That was, nothing appropriate for the kind of punishment in store for Snow.

Pongo had stood by patiently for some time, but enough was enough. He took a mouthful of jacket and tugged with all his might. A hand cuffed him on the nose.

“No, Pongo! I have to do this.” Regina clutched her feverish brow. For some reason she continued to babble despite the dog’s inability to understand or respond. “She deserves this. After what she took from me… Sh-she took _everything!_ I will make her pay with her life if I have to. They will be avenged; every soul ruined because of that selfish little girl. It is my job to make sure of that. I will not rest until it is done.”

He didn’t have to see her fingertips to know they bled. She paged relentlessly through the book as if her life depended on it. Pongo smelled the coppery stuff wafting off the pages’ edges. With lightning speed he dashing away from her and then sped back, jumping from side to side in order to get her attention away from the book. He barked hysterically, ears flapping and head shaking back and forth. This book didn’t smell right and it wasn’t just because of the red smeared on its pages.

“When it is done no one will have to suffer. It will be over. All of it.” Regina sniffed. She shook her head, eyes blurred by the moisture. Her voice was stripped of emotion by the time those mechanical words were uttered. “I’ll get my family back. Storybrooke will return to normal. They will thank me.”

Pongo bit down on the book and ripped it from her grip. Turning on his paws he sprinted away, Regina chasing.

“ _Pongo!_ ” she shouted after him.

They ran for a good half mile with Pongo in the lead. Regina had gained a bit on the speeding bullet after discarding her heels all the while wishing she had spent more time at the gym. Several passersby didn’t pay any mind to the Dalmatian galloping with a book between his jowls (this was a town full of fairy tale characters, after all), but they did take notice of the woman trailing him. Apparently, a red-faced and barefoot Evil Queen alarmed (and perhaps humored) more people than a literature hungry dog did.

“Need a leash to go with that dog?”

“Save it, Widow!”

Regina quickly dodged an elderly couple who had just exited the diner. She then hurdled over a fire hydrant and silently congratulated her agile legs.

“Hey,” David ran beside her, his expression oozing superiority, “do you require some assistance?”

Regina shoved him away. “Go heard sheep, Charming!”

Pongo barked behind a mouthful of book to clear the way ahead. They both rounded the corner of city hall.

“Where’s the fire?” muttered a perplexed sheriff.

“Out of my way!” she growled.

The sheriff cursed, almost spilling her coffee.

Regina knew it was over when she saw the shimmering water up ahead. A chill ran up her spine as she put on an extra burst of speed.

When Pongo halted so did Regina who doubled over out of breath. The book was delicately placed on the harbor pier. The tactic of dropping it inches from the ledge was not lost on Regina.

“Pongo!” she shouted breathlessly, “Do not make me use magic on you!”

The dog was not impressed by the threat or the petulant stomp of a naked heel. He sniffed nonchalantly. Knowing the cards were in his paws, he sat itching an ear with his back foot. He didn’t understand why the book meant so much now; the thing was all slobbered up and probably indecipherable from the time it spent in mouth.

Regina seethed before the dog as he just bided his time with flea control. She took a step forward.

Pongo rose up.

Regina froze. Her widening eyes went to the book.

The dog licked his muzzle.

“Pongo…”

He lowered his head slowly all while keeping his eyes on the woman.

“Pongo, I’ll give you a biscuit.”

Oh, she knew better than to bribe this pup. They both did. Tasting a mixture of leather and paper and blood, Pongo bit down hard and flung.

“No!”

There was a splash. Pongo cocked his head at the ripples and the ducks fluttering away. He sat on his hind legs quite pleased with himself.

Regina sank to her knees beside the dog. They both stared after the calming swell.

* * *

Archie caught the flaming red colored leash in midair. He started, “If I may…”

“You may not.”

“The irony of the situation cannot go unnoticed. Maybe if we could just sit and talk about –“

“Absolutely not.”

“Anything, anything at all. Nothing too heavy… you pick the topic of conversation. Just a casual one-on-one between doctor and patient.”

“There is nothing _casual_ about what I am going through, do you understand me? Talking only gets us so far before the pity sets in.”

“Talking is a crucial step in the healing process. Your grief stems from a very misplaced emotion, Regina.”

“Don’t you dare insinuate that she doesn’t deserve love.” She corrected shakily, “ _Didn’t_ deserve love. Every parent should be loved by their child. They raised them, taught them right from wrong, acted when it was in their best interests, did what they had to do because it was the best for them, and cherished their existence _every_ minute of _every_ day.”

“Regina – “

“She loved me. She said so right before… right before…” her gasps turned to uncontrollable sobs. She raised a clenched fist which fell mournfully as she wailed, “I could have been enough!”

Archie looked down, to the side, and then up at the tearing face. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Regina backed away to make her escape. Pongo started after her, but he was halted by a pointed finger and the harsh order of, “ _No.”_

The one word had all the warning of a pointed gun. His tail fell motionless. He had it coming the moment his jaws wrapped around that book. Maybe since the first time he went on a doggy limb and offered a chin to scratch, a head to kiss, or a coat to cry on. Not feeling this shamed since he stole the bear claw right from under the town sheriff’s nose, Pongo hung his head and whined. He diverted his gaze, looking anywhere but those sad, angry eyes.

The heels clicked away until the echo gave way to a silent hallway.

* * *

The blades of bright green grass tickled his nose as he went sniffing about. A breeze swept through the park, ruffling the fur of his coat and whipping about the hair of humans. Pongo trotted carefully from tree to tree and sniffing their roots for a trail. It had been days since he last made a killing. He searched his very short-term memory for the taste of rat and came up empty. If only this hunt would be as successful as the last. He vaguely remembered having to drop the dead carcass from his mouth to go after something, but he can’t place what was so important that day that he had to abandon his prize.

His search led him to a familiar clearing. The bushes that surrounded the area were thick and tangling with branches, so he wiggled his body carefully through until his view was improved.

From his hiding place Pongo saw a woman. After a sniff to the breeze he concluded that this was the one that smelled of apples, the kind lady who lavished him with affection and treats for absolutely nothing in return. Now that he thought about it, he’s pretty sure she’s the reason why Archie led him with that comfortable new leash. What a pretty red thing.

Regina was not sitting in her usual spot on the bench, but standing beside it and shouting into the equally reddened face of another woman. They were angry, that much Pongo could discern. Animals could detect human tension like they could sniff out a squirrel. However, this tension was a bit different than the kind he normally smelled between two humans.

The other woman had a mop of blonde hair and a shiny gold thing on her hip, but, like all canines, most of what Pongo saw were shades of grey. He relied on his sense of smell to conclude that the one Regina was talking to smelled of leather and coffee. He knew her; she was the one who had taken care of him when his master was away that one time. This leather lady may not have given him attention in the past (she seemed more of a cat person and that spelled enemy in Pongo’s book). Though he had warmed up to her when she introduced him to that brown-haired boy, the one who occasionally slipped him pop tarts (master disapproved of preservatives).

The yelling had intensified. The two women were inches from meeting and then… Regina collapsed to the bench. Pongo huffed petulantly in the bushes. Their mouths were still moving, though not as animatedly as before. The sheriff approached the bench with an intent he couldn’t identify on the air. Pongo was incapable of keeping the growl from rolling within his chest. Hackles raised, he crept forward and…

His paws halted in the dirt when he saw it. The sheriff sat next to Regina, their thighs close to touching. He picked up on a human word, one he’s sure had never been breathed in Regina’s presence because now her shoulders had stopped shaking. Other than that he had no idea why the leather woman seemed to be suddenly interested in his friend, the woman who smelled of apples. He rarely saw them in the same vicinity and when they were the racket of shouting pierced his ears (unless, of course, that boy was between them).

Pongo watched with all the fascination a dog could muster as the fingertips of a hand were placed on a knee. His ears twitched, straining to hear more from his shelter in the bushes. He didn’t understand; the hand just stayed there like dead weight. What good is a hand if it isn’t used for a pet and a nice scratch behind the ears? Pongo saw the appeal, but apparently the sheriff and he did not see eye to eye on this. Humans were so strange that way.

The gesture wasn’t really understood until the salt water stuff began to stream down upon the unmoving hand. It’s coming from both of them now like an unstoppable river.

Something nagged at the dog then. That something told him that his being there, watching them, was unfair. Pongo was the kind of dog who had been taught right from wrong – he knew better than to carry his dead, furry trophies over his master’s threshold or eat food off the human’s table, and he knew when he _did_ steal their food it was best to fess up and take a time out then go on his merry, ignorant way. The latter always came to bite him in the behind, case in point when the sheriff found bear claw crumbs on his nose and forthwith halted construction on city hall’s new doggie door (not that she had the authority to do so).

Observing these two humans in their highly vulnerable states… something told Pongo he was intruding. This was not his moment. It was theirs.

That his role was being succeeded by a human paid him no mind. Pongo was happy to cheer up these people (especially if it got him a free biscuit), although there was much about humans he would never understand: how they shed water from their eyes, how they could scream and shout at the top of their lungs and still refuse comfort in another’s contact, and how that simple touch of a hand could make that all disappear.

Pongo was adamant that he might never solve the mystery of why this leaking from the eyes could be so painful. As a dog he knew the pain of having to lose a day without his master or being on the receiving end of a cat’s temper. As a dog he hadn’t the capacity to know the pain of humans. He could mourn and maybe force a few droplets from his eyes, but he could never cry like humans did.

At least Regina now had a fellow human who could take care of her. The hand on her knee and the softly spoken words from the sheriff seem to have stopped her shaking. For now, Pongo was satisfied that his friend was in good hands.

On his belly, he stealthily retreated from out the bushes. He put nose to the ground and followed the scent of a particular odd smelling mouse.


End file.
